Episode 6: Barzakh.
Okirun was having a horrible nightmare, he saw in his dreams, a terrible person—Doctor Anton Volker. He was sweating; he couldn't contain his fear and dread. The air around him was thick, almost syrupy, as if reality itself was suffocating him. He tried to move, but his limbs felt like they were submerged in tar. The hum of a machine echoed in the distance, rhythmic, mechanical, and sinister—like a heart made of iron. Then he saw it: the operating table, cold and slick with something dark.
Volker stood over it, his silhouette illuminated by the sickly green glow of surgical lamps. His glasses reflected no light, only darkness, and his voice—low, scientific, devoid of pity—slithered through Okirun's skull. "You remember, don't you? We built you for this." His words echoed, as if spoken by a thousand mouths. The doctor's hands moved methodically, and with every motion, Okirun's chest burned, his veins pulsing like live wires. He tried to scream, but the sound was trapped inside him. The nightmare bled into something worse—a memory. He was back in that lab, a child of circuits and experiments, created to endure agony in the name of progress. Volker's laughter was soft, clinical, detached. "Pain is data," the doctor whispered, tightening a metallic strap around Okirun's wrist. "And you, my dear subject, are the perfect machine for collecting it."
The walls began to bend and breathe, covered in thousands of eyes blinking in unison. Each one showed a different version of Okirun—crying, screaming, running, fighting—but never escaping. The doctor walked between them as if through mirrors, his form splitting into fragments, multiplying endlessly. Okirun's heart raced. He begged for the dream to end, but the harder he resisted, the deeper he sank into it.
Suddenly, Volker reached forward and placed his gloved hand on Okirun's forehead. "There is no waking up," he murmured. The touch was freezing. Electricity surged through Okirun's body, and the world cracked like glass. From the shards, faces emerged—friends, enemies, shadows—all calling his name in agony. He awoke in a violent gasp, sitting upright in his bed, drenched in sweat. The room was dark, silent except for his ragged breathing. His pulse thundered in his ears. For a long moment, he didn't dare move. The dream felt real—too real. He looked around. The faint outline of the door, the desk, the lamp—all normal. But something in the corner was wrong. The silhouette of a man stood there, just beyond the moonlight.
"Doctor Volker?" Okirun whispered, his voice trembling. The figure didn't answer. Slowly, it tilted its head, the motion unnatural, almost robotic. A chill crawled up Okirun's spine. He reached for the light switch, but before he could flip it, the figure spoke in a voice like static: "You can't erase the design." Okirun froze. He could hear the soft whirring of gears beneath the man's words. The shadow stepped forward, and Okirun saw wires trailing from its back, disappearing into the floor. His mind screamed to run, but his legs disobeyed. Then, in a burst of courage or madness, he lunged forward, grabbing the nearest object—a lamp—and swung it through the air. The light shattered, and the figure vanished.
For several minutes, Okirun stood in darkness, panting, waiting. But there was nothing. Only the faint echo of Volker's voice in his head: "You were never meant to wake up." He fell to his knees, trembling. The dream and the waking world had begun to merge. Somewhere deep inside, Okirun realized the truth—he wasn't just haunted by Volker. He was part of Volker's experiment still, his mind the last lab left standing.
He crawled to the window and looked outside. The city lights below flickered like neurons firing in a dying brain. "Maybe I never escaped," he muttered to himself. And far away, in a tower of glass and steel, Doctor Anton Volker smiled, watching through a dozen monitors. "Good morning, Subject 47," he said quietly. "Let's begin today's test."
Back in the Spirit Realm, Barzakh smiled, "It's been some time traitor, aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" Talus laughed: "Hey guys this is Barzakh he's this chud I used to run with in the Demon Clan."
Barzakh's grin didn't falter. "Still hiding behind humor, I see. Tell me, do you laugh when your conscience claws at you, or has it gone quiet by now Apostate?" Lupus's fur bristled, blue light flickering beneath his armor. "He doesn't need to explain himself to filth like you. Tch... who does this little brat think he is?" Barzakh raised a hand lazily, the movement bending the mist around him like gravity itself. "Oh, the wolf speaks. Careful, boy — Do you shake boy, Shake, Shake? Shake." Lupus began to shake with rage: "You... shut your mouth..." Talus cracked his knuckles and stepped forward, eyes glinting. "You taught me how to survive. The biting came after you ran away." Barzakh laughed hysterically holding his hand to his face: "I suppose that's true, I did teach you I've never met the wolf until today. The Spirit Realm trembled slightly, as if even the dead were leaning in to listen.
Before Barzakh and his partner baby stood a group of mighty warriors: Hermes, Lupus, Talus, Song Yu, Krum, Imam al-Tayyib, Emperor Lemon, Genghis Khan, Narcis and the alternate-version of Talus. Barzak laughed: "9 warriors, I have at least what 200." Horrible demons walked forward. Barzakh appeared as a normal human despite being a demon himself and he had no true form but his colleagues were quite different.
A low hum filled the Spirit Realm — the sound of power coiling through mist like thunder caught in water.
Barzakh extended his arms. "Two hundred demons. Let's see if your faith can bleed." Talus smirked, slamming his fists together. Sparks of azure lightning crawled over his forearms. "Two hundred? Then I guess this'll finally count as a warm-up." Lupus's claws ignited in blue fire. "I'll tear through your ranks like paper." Barzakh tilted his head. "Try not to bite off more than your pride, puppy." At that, Talus vanished — boom! — air splitting behind him. The first wave of demons lunged forward, black tongues hissing. Talus met them head-on, fists blazing like twin comets. Each punch detonated with the weight of mountains. One demon went down, then three more.
"Spirit Howl, Stage Three!" he roared. Hermes lifted her hand, runes spiraling from her palm. "Sanctum Calligraphy: Heaven's Lattice!"
A glowing sigil spread under the warriors' feet — hexagonal lines of divine geometry anchoring the space. Barzakh's demonic mist slammed into it and hissed like acid.
Imam al-Tayyib whispered an invocation. His sword burned with the light of seven suns, and his voice cut through the din: "In the Name of the Hidden One, who made even darkness kneel—return to your essence!" A surge of radiance erupted. Dozens of Barzakh's minions dissolved into dust, their screams echoing like shattered bells. Barzakh laughed, hair falling into his eyes. "So the holy man still believes light can save the pit? Adorable."
He snapped his fingers. From behind him, a colossal demon with four arms and a ribcage of bone iron stomped forward — Draath, the Consuming Mouth.
Emperor Lemon drew his curved saber, crimson banners whipping behind him. "Finally," he said with a grin, "a challenge worthy of an emperor." Genghis Khan cracked his neck, gripping his blade. "We've fought gods and men. Today, we carve nightmares."
Krum the giant bellowed a war cry that shattered glass towers in the distance. The nine charged. Barzakh lifted a single hand. "You still think numbers matter?" His voice dropped an octave — demonic resonance twisting his form. His human façade melted into shadow and flame. Faces screamed from his body; eyes opened across his arms.
Lupus dashed forward, claw meeting claw. The impact sent shockwaves across the realm. "You talk too much!" he snarled. "Then silence me, wolf," Barzakh hissed. Talus appeared above them, spinning mid-air. "Spirit Fist — Comet Spiral!" His blow connected — a shockwave tore through the mist, launching Barzakh backward into a crystal pillar. For a moment, silence. Then laughter. Barzakh rose from the rubble, unharmed. "You've improved… little brother." Talus froze. "What did you just call me?" Barzakh's grin widened. "Did you really think the Demon Clan's blood ended with you?"
The air rippled with dark energy. Behind Barzakh, hundreds of shadowy figures began to emerge — not just demons, but echoes of Talus's own past selves, twisted versions of his rage and pride. Hermes's eyes widened. "He's weaponizing the Memory Stream. Talus — he's pulling fragments of your soul!" Talus's aura flared like wildfire. "Then I'll burn them all." He raised his hands, Spirit energy spiraling upward into a massive orb. "Everyone, get back!" Lupus shouted. The orb detonated — blue flame raining down like meteors. The ground cracked, demons disintegrated, and even Barzakh shielded his eyes from the inferno.
When the light faded, Talus stood panting, smoke rising from his body.
Barzakh chuckled. "Good. Now the real fun begins." He clenched his fist — and the Spirit Realm itself screamed. Mountains folded inward, rivers turned upside-down, and the battlefield warped into a hellish kaleidoscope. "Welcome," Barzakh said, "to my true form — The Inner Labyrinth."
The Battle in the Inner Labyrinth
The world inverted.
The sky folded into the ground, and rivers of molten glass streamed upward into the clouds. The Inner Labyrinth pulsed — alive, breathing, whispering. Every step the warriors took echoed with memories not their own.
Barzakh floated above a shifting mass of thorns and eyes. His human guise was gone; in its place was something formless — half dream, half commandment. "Welcome," he said, voice booming through every direction at once. "You stand inside my soul. Every lie you've told, every fear you've buried — here they take form."
Talus's jaw tightened. "Then I'll just burn your soul, too."
He leapt — aura blazing — and his fist smashed into the void. The air rippled, but the punch passed through illusion. A dozen Barzakhs appeared, laughing in perfect unison.
"Tell me, Talus," they said, "when you killed your own teacher, did it make you stronger? Or emptier?"
"Shut up!"
Talus fired a Spirit Burst that tore through two clones. But the echoes reformed instantly, whispering in his ear: You are still the monster I made.
Hermes raised her hand. Her calligraphy flared in gold, weaving protective circles in midair. "Talus, focus! Those are psychic projections — you feed them by losing control!"
Lupus howled, his armor glowing bright blue. "Then I'll rip the control from his hands!"
He dashed through the shifting maze, claws tearing through black corridors that dissolved into light. But the ground opened beneath him — tendrils of shadow wrapped around his legs, dragging him down.
Imam al-Tayyib stepped forward calmly, his eyes half-closed in prayer.
"A labyrinth born from the heart of a jinn cannot bind the soul that knows its origin."
He touched the ground with his sword. Light spread outward — not blinding, but clear, deliberate, the light of intellect. The maze shuddered. The whispers quieted. Even Barzakh paused.
"Still quoting your unseen God?" Barzakh sneered. "In my world, reason dies first."
Al-Tayyib smiled faintly. "Then why do you still fear the truth?"
Barzakh roared — the realm convulsed, reshaping itself into a throne room of bones. "Enough philosophy. Let's see what your truth looks like when it bleeds!"
He slammed his palm downward — and from the shadows rose his army's final form: two hundred spectral knights, each a fallen soul bound in armor of despair. Their visors burned crimson.
Emperor Lemon drew his saber. "A fine number to slaughter."
Genghis Khan cracked his neck and grinned. "Form up! Let them taste the steel of Heaven and the steppe!"
Song Yu's spear blazed like sunlight through mist. "For the Spirit Realm!"
The nine warriors surged forward, their combined auras painting the darkness in color — gold, blue, crimson, silver, white. The clash was apocalyptic.
Lupus collided with ten knights at once, every strike shaking the ground. Talus's fists became comets, each hit rewriting the laws of physics for an instant. Hermes spun midair, her calligraphy bursting into chains of light that tore through spectral armor.
Above it all, Barzakh smiled — feeding on the chaos. "Yes… struggle. The more you fight, the deeper you sink into me."
But Imam al-Tayyib had already moved — silent, unseen — walking through the carnage like a man through a dream. His blade shimmered with seven reflections.
He raised it toward Barzakh. "You built this labyrinth from falsehood. Now face the mirror of the soul."
Barzakh's laughter faltered. "What mirror?"
Tayyib's eyes glowed. "The one inside you."
Suddenly, every illusion, every shadow, every false Barzakh froze. The walls of the Labyrinth rippled — showing countless faces of the demon himself, each one screaming a different truth.
Talus blinked. "What's happening?"
Al-Tayyib replied softly: "The self meets its image. That is judgment."
Barzakh screamed as his forms began to devour each other. "No… no! I am the bridge! I am the Barzakh!"
Tayyib whispered: "And the bridge must vanish when the traveler reaches the shore."
The labyrinth shattered — the world collapsing in on itself. Light consumed everything.
When the light cleared, all was still.
The shattered remains of the Inner Labyrinth drifted like broken glass suspended in a vast sky. The warriors floated amidst the silence, their armor cracked, their breathing heavy.
Talus wiped blood from his mouth. "Did we… win?"
Hermes frowned, her runic ink still glowing faintly. "No. Look at the horizon."
From the edge of the realm, the fragments of light began to move. Slowly at first — then violently — spinning, fusing, burning. The shattered labyrinth was reforming into something new.
A massive figure rose from the chaos — towering higher than mountains, its body composed of the same crystalline shards that had once been the maze. Its face was Barzakh's, but hollow, with nothing behind the eyes but a storm of souls.
A booming laugh shook the void.
"I told you… the bridge cannot die while the travelers still cling to the shore!"
Lupus clenched his fists. "He's merged with the entire realm!"
Al-Tayyib nodded gravely. "He's become a demiurgic reflection — a mirror of every corrupted spirit he's ever devoured. This is Barzakh Absolute."
The colossal being extended a hand. A beam of dark light swept across the field, distorting gravity itself. Krum tried to block it with his axe — the weapon shattered instantly. He grunted, blood spilling from his mouth as he fell back into the void.
"KRUM!" Song Yu shouted, spinning her spear, deflecting a burst of energy before it reached him.
Emperor Lemon's eyes narrowed. "So this is the final phase. Good." He sheathed his blade — then vanished. In an instant, he appeared above Barzakh's head, unsheathing in a single golden blur.
"Imperial Art: Thousand Banners Unfurled!"
A thousand slashes cut through the demon's neck, bursting with red light. The giant staggered — but only for a moment. Then Barzakh's voice echoed:
"You think I bleed? Fool — you strike only at your own reflections!"
Each drop of the demon's blood fell, transforming into a shadow clone of Lemon himself, each bearing his own saber and grin. They surrounded him instantly.
Hermes's ink exploded outward, writing seals across the air. "Scripture Break!"
Her runes sliced the air, dissolving half the clones — but new ones formed from the mist.
Talus gritted his teeth. "This isn't working. He's adapting faster than we can hit him!"
Lupus crouched low, aura flaring. His voice broke into a growl. "Then we stop holding back."
He looked at Talus. "Remember what we trained for?"
Talus smirked. "Yeah. The Twin Howl."
Hermes gasped. "You'll destroy your bodies if you use that here!"
Lupus and Talus ignored her. Their auras interlocked — blue and red spirals twisting upward, forming a vortex that split the sky.
"SPIRIT HOWL — ASCENSION FORM!"
Their energy exploded. The air screamed. For a moment, all else disappeared — two lights colliding, one fury, one will. They launched forward, fusing into a single streak of power that rammed into Barzakh's chest, piercing through the crystalline armor.
Barzakh's roar was deafening. "YOU DARE—!"
Lupus and Talus struck again, twin fists connecting, tearing open a hole through the demon's body. Blue flames surged outward, burning through the sea of mirrors.
The massive being stumbled — his voice breaking into a thousand fragments. "Impossible… I am the reflection of the soul itself…"
Imam al-Tayyib stepped forward, sword gleaming. "And every reflection ends where light begins."
He raised his hand — and from his palm emerged a radiant sigil bearing the sacred geometry of the Imamate. "Seal of the Hidden World!"
The symbol expanded — encasing Barzakh within a sphere of white light. The demon thrashed, screaming as the souls within him began to ascend like sparks into heaven.
Barzakh's last words echoed like thunder:
"You cannot destroy me… you only set me free…"
The light faded. Silence fell.
Only the warriors remained — bruised, bleeding, but alive. The Spirit Realm's ground returned beneath their feet, calm and silver once more.
Hermes knelt, placing a hand on the ground. "He's gone… for now."
Imam al-Tayyib looked toward the empty horizon. "No, daughter. Not gone. Redeemed."
Lupus frowned. "Redeemed? That thing?"
Tayyib smiled faintly. "Even shadows crave the sun."
A portal began to open in the sky — pale, dreamlike light spilling through.
Hermes glanced at it warily. "Looks like our next trial's ready."
Talus cracked his knuckles, grinning despite the exhaustion. "Good. I was just getting warmed up."
The silver ground rippled like water under their feet. Above, the portal yawned open—its edges glowing with pale blue fire. The storm from their battle still echoed faintly across the Spirit Realm, but for the first time in hours, the air was quiet. Lupus exhaled, his breath steaming in the cold light. "So," he said, half-smirking, "anyone else feel like we just punched through a god?"
Talus let out a tired laugh, rolling his shoulders. "If that was a god, I'm not impressed. He screamed a lot, but he went down just the same." His grin carried that usual mix of arrogance and relief, but his aura flickered—his body clearly pushed beyond its limit.
Hermes brushed dust from her sleeve, the tip of her brush still faintly glowing with residual script energy. "Don't joke about gods, Talus," she said softly. "Sometimes they're listening."
The wolf prince tilted his head, amber eyes narrowing. "Good. Let them listen. Maybe they'll learn what real strength sounds like." His tail lashed once, a sign he wasn't entirely calm yet.
Imam al-Tayyib walked between them, his presence calming like a breeze after a storm. "You mistake defiance for courage, my son," he said gently. "True strength lies not in noise—but in restraint."
Talus shrugged, still smirking. "Restraint's overrated." He winced as his arm sparked faintly blue from residual Spirit energy. "Besides, if we hadn't gone all out, that thing would've eaten us alive."
"He wasn't just a thing," Hermes murmured, her eyes distant. "Barzakh was a prison full of souls. Maybe some part of him wanted to be destroyed."
The Imam nodded. "And that is why he thanked you at the end. Do not mistake redemption for weakness." His sword shimmered briefly, the sigil of the Imamate pulsing along its edge before dimming again.
Lupus crossed his arms. "You keep calling what we did mercy. But I didn't feel merciful. I felt angry."
"Then you fought honestly," Tayyib replied. "Anger born from love for creation is not sin—it is fire waiting for light to guide it." His gaze rose toward the swirling gate above. "Come. The next trial awaits those who still burn." The ground trembled as the portal expanded, light cascading down like rain. The reflection of each warrior shimmered across the surface below them—thousands of copies staring upward. "Whoa…" Talus whistled low. "That's creepy." His reflection blinked independently, smirking back at him.
Hermes tightened her grip on her brush. "The Chamber of Glass," she said. "Archivists' territory. They test truth through reflection." Lupus cracked his knuckles. "So… more mirror monsters?" "Not monsters," Tayyib corrected. "Memories." His tone turned solemn. "They will show you what you hide—even from yourself."
The light engulfed them. A heartbeat later, the world inverted. They stood upon endless glass, galaxies swirling beneath their feet. Above them, a second world reflected perfectly—another sky, another them. From the horizon came shapes: tall, faceless beings cloaked in prismatic light. The Archivists glided forward, their voices echoing like a choir underwater. "Wanderers of flame and ink," they spoke in unison. "The gate to the Inner Axis lies closed. One of you must yield what you treasure most." Talus frowned. "Treasure? Like… money? I'm broke." "Not gold," the beings replied. "Memory. The memory of your greatest triumph." Silence gripped them. Lupus's ears flicked. "You mean we have to forget winning?" "Victory breeds attachment," one Archivist said. "To move forward, one must release even pride in the light."
Hermes lowered her gaze, thinking. "Our victories shape who we are. If we give that up… we might lose ourselves." The Imam turned to her, expression calm but grave. "And yet, sometimes the path of truth requires letting go of the self entirely." Lupus stepped forward, tail flicking in defiance. "Then take mine. I've got plenty more wins left in me."
"No," Hermes said quickly. "You've fought too long to forget it. Let me." She raised her brush, ink swirling around her hand like mist. "A writer doesn't need her victories—only her story."
Talus grabbed her wrist. "Hermes, stop. You don't have to do this alone." She smiled faintly. "You never do anything alone, Talus. That's your strength. Mine is knowing when to let go."
The Archivist extended a crystalline hand. Hermes touched it. Light burst outward—white, searing, pure. Visions flashed through the air: her sealing of the Sky Serpent, her triumph against the Wraith Choir, her laughter beneath the stars. Each moment shattered like glass and drifted away. When it ended, Hermes fell to her knees, trembling. Lupus caught her before she hit the ground. "Hey! Hermes—look at me."
She opened her eyes, distant but peaceful. "It's okay," she whispered. "I remember the struggle… not the ending. Maybe that's how stories should be." She smiled weakly. "Let's finish this." The Archivists bowed. "The price is paid. The Axis awaits." The Chamber split apart like a shattering mirror, revealing a staircase of light spiraling toward the heart of creation.
Imam al-Tayyib stepped forward, his voice echoing through the infinite void. "Walk with purpose," he said. "The heavens remember what mortals forget." Talus hoisted Hermes onto his back, grinning despite the pain. "You heard the man. Let's make the next god scream louder than the last one." Lupus smirked, his eyes burning gold once more. "Yeah. Let's show them what the Twin Howl really sounds like."
Together they climbed the shining stair, their shadows trailing far below—four figures ascending through the light, ready to face whatever trial waited in the worlds above.
The staircase of light extended endlessly upward, and yet every step felt heavier than the last. The higher they climbed, the more the air shimmered with pressure — not gravity, but presence. Something was watching them. Not from above, nor below, but from beyond.
Hermes leaned on Talus's shoulder, her breath shallow but steady. Her brush hung loosely at her side, the ink long dried. She whispered, "Do you feel it? The world itself... holding its breath."
Lupus's ears twitched. "Yeah," he muttered. "It's the kind of silence that happens before something decides to kill you."
Imam al-Tayyib's steps did not falter. His robe fluttered with each stride, the sacred geometry glowing faintly on his back. "No," he said softly. "Not death. Judgment."
Light flickered along the stairway's edge, forming phantom runes that dissolved as soon as they appeared. Each symbol seemed to whisper a memory—wars forgotten, kingdoms erased, promises broken.
Talus cracked his knuckles. "I'm getting sick of all these tests. If someone's out there, they should just show themselves already."
As if in answer, the sky above shifted. The stars bent inward, forming a vast circle, and from within that circle, a figure emerged—golden, silent, and cloaked in veils of living flame.
Hermes's eyes widened. "That... that's no Archivist."
The being's voice was a calm whisper, yet it filled the entire expanse. "No. I am not of this Axis. I am its reflection."
Lupus's aura spiked. "Another reflection? We just killed one."
"No," said the being. "You freed one. And because of that, I have come."
Tayyib stepped forward, his sword half-drawn, its light steady and firm. "Then tell us what you seek."
The figure tilted its head, the flames rippling like silk. "To see if your freedom means anything. So far, all I see are children chasing thunder."
Talus grinned. "Then keep watching. I'll show you lightning."
But the being did not attack. Instead, it raised a hand, and the world shifted around them. The staircase disintegrated, replaced by a field of stars and rivers of molten glass. In the distance, thousands of shadowed thrones floated in the void—each occupied by figures wearing armor unlike anything human.
Hermes whispered, "What... what is this place?"
"The Court of the Unbound," said the being. "Warriors who transcended their worlds, bound to no law, no god, no fate."
Lupus clenched his fists. "And you're one of them?"
"I am their observer," the figure replied. "But they do not move without reason. For now, they simply... watch."
Tayyib's gaze swept the horizon. "You mean to tell me our battle was witnessed by beings beyond even the Dream Worlds?"
"Yes. And they are curious," the figure said. "You fought not for dominion, but for redemption. That is a rarity."
Talus crossed his arms. "They can keep their curiosity. We didn't fight for a show."
"Every act of courage," said the figure, "becomes a performance to those above."
Hermes frowned. "And what do they want from us?"
The being's voice softened. "To see what you become once the light leaves you. To see if you stand as warriors—or break as reflections did."
Lupus growled. "We've broken enough times already."
"Then prove it."
A wave of energy rolled through the stars, and suddenly, they were standing once more upon solid ground—though this ground pulsed like the surface of a living creature. Mountains of crystal surrounded them, and at their peaks burned enormous sigils that resembled eyes.
Talus's aura ignited. "I'm guessing this isn't a friendly test."
The Imam's expression remained calm. "A warrior's trial is never friendly. Only necessary."
The sky split. From the chasm above, a spear of light plunged downward, embedding itself into the ground before them. It quivered, humming, before forming a shape — a humanoid warrior clad in azure armor, his face hidden beneath a mirrored helm.
Hermes's breath caught. "That armor… it's alive."
The warrior drew his blade. The motion was fluid, effortless. He spoke with a cold, perfect tone: "You who bear the Howl, the Ink, and the Seal — your ascent ends here."
Lupus stepped forward, claws flexing. "We've heard that line before."
The warrior's helm reflected his face, showing Lupus every scar, every flicker of doubt. "Then you know how this ends."
He lunged.
The impact cracked the world apart. Lupus barely managed to parry, sparks flying as his claws met the azure blade. Talus appeared behind him, launching a kick that shattered the air itself, but the warrior caught it mid-strike, twisting his arm with impossible precision.
Talus spat blood, flipping back. "Fast…"
Hermes unleashed a volley of ink-sigils, forming chains of scripture that wrapped around the warrior's limbs. "Hold him!" she shouted. "Seal of Convergence!"
But the warrior's aura burst outward, breaking the chains like cobwebs. He countered with a downward slash that tore a canyon through the glass beneath them.
Tayyib raised his hand, light enveloping the team. "Form the circle!"
The four of them moved in sync, a shield of overlapping energies forming between them. The warrior's next strike hit the barrier, sending ripples of force outward — but the shield held.
Lupus's grin widened. "Guess he's not unstoppable after all."
"Not yet," said Talus, panting. "But he's getting close."
The azure warrior paused, lowering his blade. "Interesting. You fight not like mortals… but like those who remember death."
Imam al-Tayyib's eyes glowed faintly. "Perhaps because we have died before."
The being of flame, watching from above, smiled beneath its veil. "They endure. Even against the Unbound."
Far beyond that world, unseen even by them, other eyes opened — cloaked figures seated upon thrones of galaxies. Their voices were whispers, yet they shook the stars.
"So… these are the ones who escaped the Mirror Realm," one murmured.
"They rise too quickly," another said. "Should they reach the Axis, they will challenge the order itself."
"Let them climb," said a third, its tone amused. "Every ladder leads to the same truth — and the truth devours all who seek it."
In the battlefield below, Lupus roared and charged again. The clash of his Spirit Howl met the azure warrior's mirrored blade, and the universe itself seemed to flinch. The air turned to fire. The stars bent.
Hermes lifted her brush once more, summoning what power remained. "Then let's give them something worth watching."
And as her ink met light, and the two wolves howled in unison once again, the heavens themselves began to crack — revealing, behind the broken sky, a world that had been watching all along.
Imam al-Tayyib responded: "We're being watched by something else entirely…. Not in this world in another…. it's unmistakable I feel their gaze. There clearly in some other world. But who are they?... Self proclaimed-gods perhaps or something else…" Scott Greer shot back: "Stop playing around, this isn't a game." Lupus, filled with anger shot back: "You're right this isn't a game. It's real life. Stop with the nonsense. Alright lets get down to business: TRION SHIELD ON - ACTIVATE FIST OF THE BLUE DAWN - COSMIC BUSTER X-FORM! And suddenly he shot forward like a shooting star in the general direction of Barzakh who could not be seen."
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